Captain Jack
by Scriptive
Summary: Dean's drunk. Really drunk.


**Captain Jack**

Dean's drunk. He's drunker then Sam has ever seen him before which really is saying a lot compared to the amount of time that they spend in random bars across America. The truth is, he hasn't seen Dean this wasted in years.

Dean's seated at the bar, one arm snaked around a busty blond, pulling her close to him while she playfully paws at the side of his face with long painted nails and whispers in his ear. Sam finds her behavior quite obnoxious but Dean on the other hand seems to be soaking it in. She doesn't appear to be the brightest crayon in the box but she has a nice smile and Sam figures that she laughs at all the appropriate times and Dean clearly doesn't care about having any kind of intellectual conversation in his intoxicated state.

Sam takes a swig of his beer, the same one that he's been nursing for over an hour whereabouts he's lost count of how many Dean has drained. Not to mention the shots of moonshine and whatever the hell "the four horseman" is.

Dean orders another drink from the bartender but Sam makes sure to wave it off when Dean looks in the opposite direction. Dean didn't ask him to be his caretaker tonight but Sam can't help it. Since Dad's death, Dean's been different. More worn and more reckless. And he's been drinking more. A lot more and Sam can understand. He knows, alcohol covers the pain and makes you forget for a while. but it also takes away who you are.

Dean is slurring his words almost to the point of unrecognition but the blond is smiling, twisting a blond curl around her finger and staring at Dean's mouth. Sam rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to the local newspaper in front of him. They are supposed to be looking for a case. He's reading a paragraph about the economy when he looks up to see that Dean's got his hands on another drink.

Sam stands, the chair clattering as it falls onto his side. Enough is enough. Dean is so drunk; he can barely lift the bottle to his mouth. Instead he hits his nose. Finally on the third try, he manages to take a swig but most of the liquid ends up pouring onto his shirt, drenching it with brown liquid.

"Dean." Sam calls, trying to catch his brother's attention. Instead, it's the girl who turns around

"Hey sugar." She slurs, eyeing his arm muscles.

Sam ignores her and thinks of how he can get the bottle away from Dean but when he looks at his brother, he doesn't have to worry.

The bottle is tipped on it's side, brown, murky liquid quickly spreading across the table. The girl hops up and leaves for the bathroom, probably to bring back paper towels or something, letting Sam take her place at the bar. He slides onto the seat and peers at his brother.

Dean's head rests on the counter, pillowed by his arms. His eyes are closed.

"Dean?" Sam prods. He pokes at Dean's cheek. Now this is a first. Dean has never passed out inside a bar before. Dean's eyelids don't even flicker. He's passed out cold. Both a good and bad thing. Good because thank god, it's unlikely that Dean is going to get alcohol poisoning tonight but bad because shit Sam has to lug his 175lb wasted brother across a parking lot and put him to bed. But hell, he'd take the route without the hefty hospital bill and ruined liver.

He shakes Dean's arm again to hopefully get some sort of response so he doesn't have to throw Dean over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Luckily, Dean's arm twitches and his head rises from the table. He looks blearily at Sam squinting.

"Hey Dean." Sam breathes a sigh of relief. "You gotta stand up man. We have to get out of here." He glances at the bartender who is obviously displeased about the drunk passed out on his bar.

Dean mumbles something and his eyelids slip shut. His head dips back to his arm. Sam shakes him again harshly, snapping Dean back awake before he can go back to his booze coma.

"You can crash in the car Dean, okay? We need to leave."

Dean nods and lets himself be pulled to his feet. Sam puts an arm around Dean's shoulder and throws down a fifty. Dean's barely walking, most of his weight supported by Sam as they make their way to the Impala.

Sam unlocks the car and opens the passenger door with one hand, holding Dean up with the other. He's about ready to deposit Dean inside when Dean retches, and vomits …all over Sam's shoes.

Sam curses and manhandles Dean into shotgun. Sam wants to be pissed. Hell, he _should _be pissed. No one likes being the babysitter and Dean learned how to control his liquor back in high school but when Dean looks up at him, his eyes dull and depressed, he just can't be mad because honestly, it breaks his heart seeing Dean like this.

"You are buying me new shoes." Sam tells him.

Sam shuts the door and goes around to the driver's side. He gets in and rubs a weary hand across his eyes and glances at his brother beside him whose passed out again, his chin resting on his chest, slumped forward uncomfortably.

"You can't keep doing this to yourself man. It's not good for you." He says to his unconscious brother as he pulls the seatbelt around Dean's middle and buckles it.

The drive back to the motel is long without Dean's company. When they arrive at the motel he sighs deeply. Dean's been still the whole ride and Sam puts his hand under Dean's nose to make sure he's still breathing. He's alive. But totally out

Sam puts a waste basket next to Dean's bed and fills up a glass of water, placing it on the nightstand along with two advil's. He removes Dean's shoes and covers Dean with the ratty extra blanket that he found in the closet. Then he goes to his own bed and slides underneath the sheets. He'll talk to Dean in the morning…


End file.
